Bound by Their Secret Passion

by Diane Gaston

  They proceeded to his high-flyer phaeton waiting outside. He assisted her into the seat.

  ‘This is an impressive carriage!’ Lady Alice exclaimed.

  It had been his brother’s and apparently brand new at the time of his death.

  But Dell did not bother explaining that to her.

  Her conversation was almost exactly like her mother’s. Enquiring as to his health. Discussing the weather and politics.

  They passed Berkeley Square and started down Mount Street. He could tell her he owned a town house on this street, but that would involve explaining about the fire and the renovation and he was not interested in discussing either with her.

  But as they neared the house, the door opened and Lorene stepped out with her man of business. She looked directly at him and nodded as he passed. He touched his hat.

  ‘That was Lady Tinmore, was it not?’ Lady Alice asked.

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Mama told me she lived on Brook Street,’ she went on. ‘I wonder who the man was with her. Was it his house, do you suppose?’ Her tone was disapproving and it rankled with Dell. Lorene had obviously been checking on his town house, doing nothing that required censure.

  ‘He is her man of business,’ he responded. ‘And it is my town house they were leaving.’

  ‘Your town house?’ Lady Alice cried. ‘But you live with the Duke.’

  Surely her mother had informed her about the fire. ‘The town house is undergoing a complete refurbishment. Lady Tinmore is in charge of it.’

  ‘Lady Tinmore?’ A line formed between her eyebrows. ‘Why should she be in charge?’

  ‘Because I asked her,’ he said curtly.

  ‘Oh.’ Her voice turned small.

  By the time they neared the Grosvenor Gate to Hyde Park, he took pity on her. ‘Lady Tinmore refurbished one of my country houses. Her taste is impeccable, so I asked her to help me with the town house.’

  ‘I see,’ she said blandly. ‘How nice of her to help you.’

  They entered the park, which was crowded with other members of the ton who ventured out to see and be seen at this fashionable hour.

  ‘Look how many carriages there are!’ Lady Alice cried. ‘We shall see several people we know here.’

  They greeted several people as they passed them on the road circling the park.

  At least Lady Alice was enjoying herself. Dell found the outing a complete bore. To see and be seen was not enough of a reason for him to enjoy a carriage ride. Out in the country it made more sense. The fresh air. The scenery. Giving the horses their heads. They were slowed to a snail’s pace. It was more difficult to keep the horses from charging ahead.

  ‘Oh, look!’ she cried for the hundredth time it seemed. ‘There is Mr Holdsworth.’

  He was walking on the footpath.

  ‘Yoo-hoo, Mr Holdsworth’ she cried.

  He walked up to the carriage. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Alice.’ The young man looked miserable. ‘Lord Penford.’

  Dell nodded to him and tended to the horse while Lady Alice engaged him in conversation—about more than health, weather and politics—and with more animation than Dell had seen heretofore.

  ‘A friend?’ Dell asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice rose an octave. ‘I have known him my whole life.’ She added sadly, ‘He is a younger son.’

  * * *

  Lorene had dreaded the dinner at Lord and Lady Northdon’s, not because she did not desire to see Edmund and her sisters, but because her mother already had become a tinderbox, ready to flame with little provocation, and it seemed that some provocation came whenever she met with her daughters.

  Luckily a visit with Edmund’s and Tess’s babies eased the uncomfortable atmosphere. Nothing like babies to make a person smile. She was so happy for Edmund and Tess. They each were obviously as proud as they could be of their sons. The happiest in the room were the grandmothers, Lorene’s mother and Lady Northdon.

  Lorene sat with Dell as the babies played with each other. Edmund’s son toddled around the room and Tess’s little one tried his best to keep up by crawling.

  ‘How dear they are!’ Lorene said to Dell.

  She glanced at him and saw that the sight was not as delightful to him. He looked as if in pain.

  ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ she asked him.

  He blinked as if surprised at the question. ‘I am very well.’

  ‘You look as if someone is poking you with a dagger.’

  His expression turned to dismay. ‘I was thinking...’

  ‘About your family?’ she asked gently.

  ‘About how easy it is to feel someone’s importance,’ he said cryptically.

  She was puzzled. ‘I do not comprehend.’

  He smiled. ‘There is no need for you to comprehend.’

  But she wanted to understand. His countenance was so often unhappy that she experienced pain when she looked at him. Why could she not make happy those she cared about? Why could she not make him happy?

  She glanced back at the babies and grasped at straws. ‘Do you wish you had a son, Dell?’

  She felt his body tense. ‘Do you?’ he asked.

  She sighed. ‘Yes. I do. Or a daughter. It used to be a dream of mine.’

  ‘You could still have children,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll never marry again.’ That dream had died. Marriage had been a misery to her. She’d never let a man have such control over her. ‘And I will not have children without marriage.’ She glanced at him again. ‘What of you?’

  ‘Why plague me with this conversation, Lorene? I do not wish to discuss it,’ he snapped.

  He’d never spoken sharply to her before.

  Stung, she turned away and watched her mother and Lady Northdon in their dinner dresses down on the floor playing with the babies.

  Tess’s son started to cry and soon Edmund’s son wailed along with him. Tess and Amelie scooped them up in their arms. ‘Time to go back to the nannies and be put to bed.’

  Lorene liked that Tess and Amelie were both attentive mothers. She’d always known it would be so of Tess. She and Tess had once shared the same dreams. To marry for love and to have babies to cherish. To have happy families.

  Although the babies had left the room, Lorene’s mother and Lady Northdon repeated every charming thing they’d done.

  This was a part of her mother Lorene could like, her genuine delight in the grandsons. Had her mother cherished her and her sisters when they were babies? Did she have love pouring from every pore like she did for these little ones?

  If so, how could she have left them?

  This was not the time to ask her and Lorene hoped Tess and Genna realised it as well. The happy glow from the babies was already wearing off. Soon the tension would return.

  Lorene darted a glance to Dell, who seemed totally preoccupied. She could not count on him to ease her discomfort or her fears tonight. Perhaps it was time she stopped thinking of herself and thought of him instead. Perhaps he was the one in most need tonight.

  He must have sensed her looking at him, because he lifted his head and met her gaze with a smile that felt nothing but sad to her.

  ‘Wine?’ Lord Northdon offered.

  Dell asked her, ‘Would you like a glass?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she responded.

  He rose and crossed the room to take two filled glasses from Northdon’s hand. He brought one to her and sat back down to sip the other.

  She desperately wanted to pull him out of his withdrawal. ‘The house is coming along very well,’ she said.

  ‘I am glad of it.’ He did not sound glad.

  ‘The walls and floors are finished,’ she went on. ‘Now it simply wants paint and wallpape
r and furniture.’

  ‘Do what you want with it,’ he responded. ‘I’ll see it when it is through.’

  ‘I thought to stop you today to look at it,’ she said. ‘You and the lady with you. That was Lady Alice with you today, was it not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She looked lovely.’

  He glanced away for a moment, then turned back to her. ‘I had to tell her about you and the town house. She was spinning a story of you having a tryst with your man of business.’

  ‘Goodness!’ She did not need that. ‘So she knows I am helping you?’

  ‘She does.’

  ‘I suppose we should simply tell everyone, then,’ she said.

  His gaze swept the room. ‘Not today.’

  That suited her. She liked sharing that special knowledge with Dell alone and it spoiled it somehow that he’d told Lady Alice. This was the second time she’d seen him take special notice of the young woman.

  She worked up her courage and asked, ‘Are you courting Lady Alice, Dell?’

  ‘No,’ he responded.

  Why should that gratify her? She wanted to see him happy above all things.

  He added, ‘But I am considering it.’

  She made herself smile. ‘How nice.’

  Over in another corner of the room, her mother’s voice rose. ‘Why must everyone plague me?’

  ‘I did not plague you, Mother,’ Genna said. ‘I merely asked you a question.’

  Oh, no!

  ‘Why I left you?’ Her mother’s voice was shrill.

  Lorene rose from her chair and hurried over to them.

  ‘I will tell you why I left you.’ She glared at Genna. ‘I had to make a choice. Run away with the man I loved and be happy or stay with a husband who loathed me and made me miserable. I was never very important to you in any event. You had nannies and a governess. You did not need me.’

  Von Osten came to her mother’s side and put his arm around her. ‘There now, Hetty,’ he said in a loving murmur. ‘Do not upset yourself.’

  She burst into tears, shocking everyone.

  Lady Northdon came to her side. ‘Come with me, dear. Let us go away from here.’

  Her mother allowed Lady Northdon to lead her out of the room. Von Osten followed them.

  ‘Genna, why did you speak to her like that?’ Lorene asked, peeved that her youngest sister could not sense that this was not the time or place.

  ‘Why, Genna?’ Edmund joined in.

  Ross stood beside Genna.

  ‘I am sorry, Lorene!’ Genna cried. ‘I am sorry, Edmund. I do not know why I do such things. It is just that she pretends it was just fine that she left us and it wasn’t!’

  Now Genna looked ready to cry.

  Ross held her. ‘She will calm down. Do not worry.’

  They had not even been called into dinner yet.

  Several minutes later, Lady Northdon returned. ‘Lady Summerfield apologises for her absence, but she is suffering from the headache and was compelled to go home. Count von Osten accompanies her.’ She looked apologetically at Lorene. ‘They have taken the carriage.’

  ‘That is of no consequence,’ Lorene said. Using the carriage had been ridiculous. Her town house was only a street away. ‘I trust she will feel better soon.’

  ‘Now I feel even worse,’ Genna said.

  ‘I do not feel it is entirely your fault, Genna,’ Lorene said. ‘Our mother has been quite excitable lately. The Count remarked on it this very morning.’

  Edmund frowned. ‘I have noticed it, too. She is not herself. She is typically steady and in excellent humour.’

  ‘And I made her worse.’ Genna looked miserable.

  Lady Northdon waved a hand in a typically French manner. ‘We ladies must be allowed our moods.’

  Her husband handed her a glass of wine. ‘Then we have two fewer guests for dinner.’

  Lady Northdon smiled as she accepted the wine. ‘I have given instructions to take two places from the table.’

  Dinner was announced and it turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant affair. It was delightful to have Edmund all to themselves, so to speak, without their mother to stir up emotions.

  * * *

  When it came time to leave, Dell offered to walk Lorene home.

  ‘I would be delighted,’ she said.

  A moment later they were outside. The night was as fine as a spring night could be.

  Lorene took hold of Dell’s arm, but they did not speak and she felt the chasm between them had grown since their earlier conversation. She was at a loss.

  They reached her town house. A rush lamp was burning at the doorway.

  She took her key from her reticule. ‘Goodnight, Dell,’ she said. Her voice sounded strange after the silence between them.

  He pulled her out of the light into the servants’ entrance. She could barely see his face it was so shrouded in darkness. His eyes shone through, though.

  ‘I am sorry, Lorene.’ His voice rasped.

  His intensity took her breath. ‘For what?’

  ‘For...’ He paused. ‘For being churlish.’

  As she had done that night in the inn, she touched his face and felt his suffering. ‘No need to apologise to me, Dell. Not you. You have always been my rock when I needed you.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ he said. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘You have much on your mind,’ she said, grasping at the only reason that made sense to her, the one that somehow made her insides twist. ‘Making the choice to court a young lady or not would weigh on any man’s mind.’

  He drew back. ‘I have not yet made a choice.’

  She suddenly felt as if she were treading on thin ice. ‘I did not mean you should.’

  Just as quickly he came close again, even closer than before. She could feel his breath on her face as his eyes pierced hers. ‘I do not want anyone to be important to me.’

  ‘A wife would be important,’ she agreed.

  ‘That is not—’ He did not finish what he was about to say. Instead he stepped back again. ‘I should bid you goodnight.’

  ‘Would—would you like to come in? I’m certain we have brandy. Would you like to come in and have some brandy? You could tell me—’ She wanted to be of help to him.

  ‘No!’ he said sharply. ‘I have said too much already.’

  He’d said nothing—nothing that made sense.

  She walked back to her door. He held out his hand for her key and unlocked the door for her. He opened it and placed the key back in her hand, keeping hold of her hand for longer than needed.

  ‘Goodnight, Lorene,’ he said.

  She made an impulsive move. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Remember, Dell. I am always here if you need a friend.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning an elderly man with a cane called upon the offices of the New Tatler, one of London’s printers of pamphlets. He’d researched the possibilities carefully and learned that this publisher relished a scandalous story.

  ‘I should like to speak with the editor, please,’ the man said.

  One of the workers responded, ‘What about?’

  ‘About a story,’ he said.

  The workman gestured for him to follow and led him to an office in the back of the shop where two men sat. Both looked to be in their prime. Forties, Dixon would guess. One was heavyset and bald; the other, thin as a whip with long dark hair that nearly touched his shoulders.

  The workman inclined his head. ‘Mr Addison and Mr Steele.’

  The man leaned on his cane and looked from one man to another. Neither said who was the editor and who was not. ‘Yes. Well. I am Dixon. I have a story for you. A true one that will make you and me
a fortune...’

  Dixon had stewed over this for over a year. He had, of course, been pensioned off and sent packing as soon as the new Earl of Tinmore settled himself on the estate. It wasn’t as if the old earl had not provided for him. He could have a comfortable living. It was just that he had served Lord Tinmore at Tinmore Hall for over half a century and now he was booted out of his home.

  Because of her. That upstart. That fortune hunter.

  When the Earl’s wife and son died and the Earl retired as a recluse, Dixon had run the household. Wicky had been the Earl’s valet for even longer and Filkins had served him as secretary for at least forty years. The three of them had made certain the Earl’s needs were properly met. How many times had m’lord said he’d be lost without them? The Earl had been content.

  Then she came, calling uninvited and offering herself like some Covent Garden strumpet. Promising him who knew what. If he’d marry her, she’d make his life heaven. And the old lord fell for it. He started to act as if he were twenty years younger. Inviting guests. Attending Parliament. All sorts of exertions.

  She was behind it, Dixon knew. Driving m’lord to be running around London when he ought to have been resting. Heaven knew what parties and routs she made him take her to during the Season. Then bringing her fancy visitors to Tinmore Hall—a duke’s son and Lord Penford. M’lord was always impressed by the loftiest titles. That sister of hers was another fortune hunter, snaring that duke’s son into marriage. And the Earl of Penford—who did he think he was, charging into Tinmore Hall and confronting m’lord!

  No matter what the Earl of Penford said at that inquest, Dixon knew his lordship had died from foul play. Penford pushed him, no doubt of that. If the magistrate was not willing to try Penford for murder, Dixon would see that he was found guilty in the eyes of society.

  The two men in the office exchanged glances.

  One said, ‘You will have to tell us more than that.’

  The other said, ‘And tell us what payment you expect.’

  Dixon gave what he hoped was a sincere smile. ‘I would ask for a mere ten pounds...and fifty per cent of your profits.’

  ‘Then you will have to tell us a very good story indeed,’ the first man said.